


Empty (Rewrite)

by rainbowskissors



Series: Rewrites! [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: And More Angst, Angst, F/M, adding in that angst juice >:), because who doesn't love marital angst??, honestly im proud of my writing journey, rewrite babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowskissors/pseuds/rainbowskissors
Summary: What if Eliza hadn't been able to forgive Alexander?Because sometimes, it's not good enough to simply beg on your knees.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Series: Rewrites! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055735
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Empty (Rewrite)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a rewrite!
> 
> i believe 'empty' was the first fic i posted on this account, previously called 'i have nothing to say to you'. that was all the way back in july.. wow.
> 
> i wanted to rewrite it to see my journey as an author over the last 5 months, and also because the old one was bothering me lmao. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!!

“Just let me stay here by your side. That would be enough.”

I almost feel pity, which is a strange thing - that emotion feels so foreign to me now, nothing but a simple drop in my bloodstream. Unable to have any affect on the mass pool of hurt that's settled in my heart.

Alexander is crying in front of me, tears trickling down his cheeks. His face is screwed into a mass of hurt, begging for forgiveness on his knees.

Forgiveness for what he’d done. For how he’d broken my heart numerous times after promising he’d be mine forever.

Each betrayal cut twice as deep as the last - whenever I'd scented the foreign lipstick on his collar, I could not help but snarl. I had no idea when enough would have been enough, but then the final straw came.

 _Adultery!_ the headlines in the tabloids screamed. They leeched and grabbed at any opportunity to make a scandal of my husband, a figure so controversial that even his name being uttered caused lips to curl and knuckles to whiten.

I'd thought you were mine, Alexander. But you’ve proved me wrong in so many ways. Too many. 

I've had enough. I hope you’re satisfied with yourself.

As we stand in the garden, frozen in this moment of grief, he is holding his hand out to me, as if it were that night at the Winter’s Ball when we had first met. That dreamlike night that still feels so surreal to me.

For a moment, I’m tempted to let him take it again, to whisk me away with his letters of love, his declarations of loyalty, his claims of faith. To let him carry me away to a world where everything is okay. Where everything is perfect, and wonderful, and beautiful.

But things are different now. I am not the innocent, naïve Betsey I was introduced as by my family, what seems like a lifetime ago.

There is no chance I am giving my heart to Alexander if there is a risk that he would break it once more.

So, instead of accepting his outstretched hand, I simply stare down at him, watching him grovel at my feet.

There is not an ounce of pity in my gaze. Not after what he’d put me through. 

Incessant humiliation from the public eye - that was difficult enough, especially since attention only grew after Alexander's outspoken mouth began making headlines.

But there was more. Having to question my husband's fidelity every night, when it had never even crossed my mind before, was painful. It was tiring, and draining, and it stripped me of my faith and humanity every single time.

I am shaken back to the present when his eyes flash with so many emotions at once.

Pain. Grief. Anger. Sadness. Fear. Regret. They all accumulate, pushing and vying for attention in those sapphire-blue orbs of his.

I wince at the last one. I can tell it's sincere. 

People have always labelled me as a kind person.

_Oh, Betsey is so kind._

_She will make a wonderful wife to that man - perhaps her grace and sweet personality will rub off._

I know full well I have the capacity to forgive. In my mind, there is simply no use holding on to meaningless grudges of the past, so why bother?

But I’d never given my heart away to anyone. I’d never made myself vulnerable, bared my entire soul to someone.

Someone I thought loved me.

Perhaps Alexander loved me, once upon a time. But now I am not so sure -- was I not a satisfying-enough wife, able to satiate his cravings in bed?

And that is what differentiated this from any other time.

I’d let my guard down for him, let him into my heart, and this is where it got me.

A political scandal, a dead son, and sinking neck-deep into an abyss of debt. What a horrid feeling it is, indeed, to send letters to your father, asking for money because your husband cannot support the family anymore.

My nose curls as I think of _her_ sitting on the very bed where Alexander used to hold me close and whisper in my ear, all his dreams for our family. 

Oh, how I'd listened intently, my mind painting beautiful fantasies for us to enjoy as a family.

A family that was torn apart when Philip was killed.

A death he could have prevented, had he not been so obsessed with his pride and his legacy.

When had he learned that we are his legacy, not his political affairs and scandals and problems?

When it was too late.

“I’m sorry, Alexander. But I cannot forgive you,” I tell him, before whisking my cloak around me and entering the house again, leaving him alone in the garden. I do not lock the door, however. I am not heartless enough to leave him to sleep in the garden - that is low, even for me, the wife of an adulterer. 

I hear his wretched sobs echoing throughout the garden, a cry to the world in agony.

I can’t even look at him. This man, who’d stolen my heart. Who’d promised me that we would have a life, a family together.

Who’d caused me so much sorrow and heartbreak at night. Who'd served me platter after platter of grief, in the place of all his empty promises.

There were times when I would sit in bed, alone, wondering _why_.

 _Why_ hadn’t I been enough for him?

 _Why_ couldn’t I have satisfied him?

 _Why_ had he needed that Maria Reynolds?

The only true answer, or at least, in the eyes of society, was that the burden and faults were on _me._ Had I been able to satisfy my husband, this never would have happened.

My fists curl, and it feels like my heart has hardened into stone.

Why should the blame be pinned on me? Is it always the woman's fault that the man could not keep his length in his pants? Forgive my crass language, but I am hardly in a temperamental mood at the moment.

I know I wasn't raised to be like this. I was always the Schuyler sister with the fairest temper - even Tench Tilghman had said so about me!

But it's not in my nature to just accept things as they are, at least not without an (internal) fit - I am a firm believer in fairness. Quite ironic, considering I was known as a fair lady. But the kind of fair I was raised to believe in - a docile kind of fair - does not align with my beliefs in the slightest.

And that is why, thanks to Alexander Hamilton, nobody will ever be able to hurt me again.

They will never get through to me. My heartbreak has built a wall around my heart of stone.

I hope that Alexander burns, and feels the fire of pain rip through him like it did to me. It's only fair.

I hope my Philip is waiting for me when I reunite with him.

And I pray that my Icarus of a husband will not be joining us.

**Author's Note:**

> so i clearly added a lot, but that was just my inner thoughts on this new, fiery eliza. i also wanted the lines to connect with each other better, since before they were quite choppy.  
> i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> stay safe! <3


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